


Original Sin

by alexa_dean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Daddy Issues, Gen, Vessel!dean, brainwashed!Dean, mild John/Dean undertones, mute!Dean, possessed!dean, voodou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexa_dean/pseuds/alexa_dean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are the things Dean knows and doesn't know . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Original Sin

The night John asks, taking sips of rum, reciting French, reciting Latin, reciting all things and nothing except the one thing Dean can understand, is the night Dean knows the extent of his sacrifice--that family, especially his family, reaches far beyond feathers and rosaries and the twist of leather thongs on Dean’s wrists, charms twinkling like bells, far beyond vengeance for his dead mother and orphaned brother.  
  
Anointing Dean in oil, his father asks if Dean remembers the story of Abraham? Covering him in red ochre and gunpowder, he asks if Dean remembers the story of Isaac? And Dean says,  _yes_. And Dean says,  _of course_. And Dean asks without sound, without words, but with all of what makes him, him,  _what if God never shows?_  
  
And he trembles and he shakes and he startles when his father’s hands sweep across his body, revealing skin phosphorescent with dark magic, peeking sly through sigils traced there, like moonlight through lace.  
  
The smell of cigar smoke and burning hair causes Dean’s gorge to rise. Its set alight with rum and fire until the offer takes. And the ceiling opens up and Dean’s vision doubles.  
  
He sees his father’s time-weathered face framed by stars and he wonders why his father can’t see the world crumbling to ash around them, can’t see the strange figures dancing in green and black robes. Can’t see heaven lit up all through. Nowhere close to sunlight, somewhere far from right.  
  
Dean wants to say,  _see_? He wants to say,  _there!_  And he wants to say:  _they’re here._  
  
But he’s choking on terror, choking on the thing filling him up, much too large for him too hold, small as he is with razorblade cheeks and a quivering lip, fingers clutched into the hollow of his throat, like bundled birch twigs. His father bending close, so close, cradling Dean’s shorn skull and pouring rum into Dean’s partly open mouth. The veve on Dean’s chest, to St. George, to Ogoun swelling bright.  
  
And his Dad says,  _don’t be afraid._  And his Dad says,  _I won’t let anything happen to you._  And his Dad says,  _close your eyes._  
  
When Dean finally takes his first shuddery gasp, when he finally speaks, when his lips frame the shape of answers his father has given Dean over for, Dean’s voice is not his own.  
  
Dean is not Dean.  
  
Dean is John’s.


End file.
